Against the Tide Imperial: The Struggle for Ceylon (The Usurper's War: An Alternative World War II Book 3)

by James Young

  “Baron Leader,” he replied.

  “Please advance to be recognized,” came the reply. Russell strode forward, and a bright light shone in his face.

  “You know, putting a torch into the eyes of a man getting ready to take off is bloody stupid,” he snarled.

  “Sorry sir, orders!” came the reply. Russell could tell the sergeant was genuinely remorseful and waved it off.

  “Might want to have a word with the officer of the guard for tomorrow,” Russell said. He moved forward and into the darkened tower, the heat only slightly less oppressive and the insects much more aggressive.

  “You’d think we had the garrison’s blood supply in here, the damn mosquitoes are so thick,” Wing Leader Hairns said. “I had the signal dropped by here as well. The bomber lads are waiting until dawn provided the Lancasters and Sunderlands can stay in contact. Do you wish to do the same?”

  Russell considered the pros and cons briefly.

  “Sir, if I’m going to be attacking fleet carriers, best to do it when their fighters aren’t thick as flies,” he said, then slapped his arm. “Or mosquitoes.”

  “The irony,” Hairns observed, drawing a chuckle from Russell.

  “Indeed, sir,” Russell replied. “The Japanese are four hundred fifty miles out, so we might as well get our licks in and see if we can level the playing field.”

  “Yes, taking one of their flight decks out of the equation would be appreciated,” Hairns replied. “Especially as this probably means we can expect trade tomorrow.”

  “Sir, do you expect the Navy to make their appearance tomorrow as well?” Russell asked.

  “Vice Admiral Cunningham is personally commanding the fleet,” Hairns said. “I’ve only met the chap a couple of times, but he seems to be almost as cagey as Somerville was.”

  Well, we all know what that got him, Russell recalled. Although he took at least one Japanese carrier down with him. Maybe if the Americans ever get around to deciding to risk their fleet before the Japanese gobble up the Empire, that exchange rate will start to matter.

  “I never believed I’d be back out this way,” Hairns mused, looking out the window. “I’d done my bit flying in Palestine and figured No. 11 Group was where my flying days would end, one way or the other.”

  “If you’d told me I’d be leading a Mossie squadron against the Japanese from Ceylon two years ago, I’d have thought someone was quite mad,” Russell agreed. “In any case, we’ll be off in ten minutes once I brief the men.”

  Hairns nodded, then extended his hand.

  “Hurt them, Squadron Leader Wolford,” he said. “Hurt them dearly.”

  “That’s why we have the bombs, sir,” Russell replied cheerfully. He hoped his smile was a lot more confident than he actually felt.

  The next two and a half hours seemed almost surreal. To Russell’s pleasant surprise, Baron Squadron managed to get into the air without incident. After much discussion with his flight leaders, Russell had decided to vary Baron Squadron’s armament. Gratham Flight, as befitting Flight Lieutenant Badcocke’s former career with Coastal Command, would lead the squadron towards their Japanese target. His four Mosquitoes carried a battery of underwing rockets and a single 500-lb. bomb, as they would spend most of the night dropping flares for the other flights to see their targets. Jersey Flight was similarly equipped, and Russell hoped that both could manage to alternate attacking escorts so that Baron could get in and hit home with their pair of 1,000-lb. bombs.

  “This lot seems a lot less keen than their friends in the Indies,” Bellingsley observed. Baron Squadron had just received another report from the Sunderland that had taken over shadowing the Japanese group from the departing Lancaster. The Japanese force had turned away from Ceylon, and was now roughly four hundred and fifty miles southeast of the island's southern tip.

  They turn much further out we’re going to have an interesting flight home.

  “In the Indies they had a lot more support from land-based fighters,” he stated out loud. “I don’t blame them for deciding to see what came out to greet them in the dark far as possible from our airfields.”

  “Glad to know we made an impression on them,” Bellingsley replied.

  “Thank you, Portal Leader, we have the targets,” Flight Lieutenant Badcocke replied. “Multiple targets bearing one six five true, range twenty-five miles.”

  Russell turned to look into his scope. Not two minutes later, he too picked up the target group.

  Well if this lot has radar, I suppose the Lancaster or Sunderland would have figured it out by now. At least, I hope that’s it, and not that they only decided to launch fighters once they saw multiple blips. Russell shrugged off his paranoia and turned to running his squadron’s attack.

  “All right Gratham, Jersey, let’s be about it,” he ordered. The eight Mosquitoes accelerated into their descent, breaking through the intermittent cloud at 10,000 feet towards the Indian Ocean below. The sea’s surface reflected the waxing moon breaking through the clouds, and Russell’s experienced eye picked out the numerous wakes of enemy vessels below.

  “Ten miles,” Badcocke said.

  “Baron Leader, Jersey One, I have airborne trade bearing oh two oh, range five miles.”

  Well, looks like they’ve got cats eyes fighters up, Russell noted with a bit of concern. He looked off towards their right front and saw the brief glint of moonlight on canopy.

  “All right lads, I see at least one bloke coming in for a look see, two o’clock!” he said into the radio. “If there’s one, there’s going to be more of them.”

  Russell was correct in his summation that there would be multiple fighters airborne. Vice Admiral Ozawa’s Second Carrier Fleet, while not as well-known as the Kido Butai, was a tough, experienced force that had benefited from several of its vessels being sent back to Japan for repairs and refit in the previous three months after the DEI campaign. The cruiser Nachi, having been severely damaged by Allied surface vessels in the Battle of the South China Sea, had received a radar during her time in the yard. A British air search set captured from the Germans then transferred to the Japanese, the Type 281 was an early example of that type. Still, it had been been far in advance of anything the IJN had fielded in 1942, and was quite functional despite having been used for extensive experimentation.

  Nachi had detected Baron Squadron at a little over one hundred miles. That had been more than enough time for the carriers Ryujo, Ryuho, and Chitose to each launch a single chutai of Zero fighters. Utterly lacking in radar, what each aircraft did have was a functional radio from which to receive general headings and altitude towards Baron Squadron.

  In the end, the system worked about as well as could be expected, which was to say hardly at all. The Ryuho’s chutai, confused in the darkness, was horribly out of position as Jersey and Gratham Flight began their ingress. Chitose’s trio of fighters flew a reciprocal heading to the one they were given, then only realized their mistake as the Nachi’s radar operator began screaming invectives at them. This left Ryujo’s fighters, led by a veteran of that carrier’s grievous wounding during the Dutch East Indies campaign, to attempt the intercept of twelve fast, heavily armed Mosquitoes.

  Gratham One, seeing the Zeroes turning in towards his flight, elected to rely on the Mosquitoes’ speed to see them through. As planned, Badcocke and his wingman began passing over the Japanese formation at roughly 5,000 feet. As they reached the outer ring of escorts, Vice Admiral Ozawa angrily issued the order to open fire due to his fighters’ ineffectiveness. As if a switch was thrown, tracer fire stabbed upwards towards Gratham One and Two. Both Mosquitoes were unscathed, a string of flares opening behind them and descending towards the ocean below.

  Gratham Three and Four, coming forward into maelstrom, targeted the light cruiser Noshiro at the left front of the formation. Squeezing one eye shut to protect from the flash of their rockets, both Mosquitoes fired their the 3-inch devices at three hundred yards, then followed up with strafing as they d
ropped their bombs in a shallow glide attack. The light cruiser’s upper works were whipped with fragments as four of the rockets hit, killing many of the anti-aircraft gunners at their posts. Unfortunately for the two Mosquitoes, a last minute turn caused both bombs to miss without real effect.

  Jersey Flight, attacking a few moments behind Gratham, attempted to repeat their attack on the Nachi. The big heavy cruiser’s anti-aircraft guns managed to score a lucky hit, the burst of 25mm fire striking Jersey Two as it was in the midst of putting in flares. With a scarlet flare of flame, the port engine caught ablaze, then exploded in a brilliant pyrotechnic display. Flying Officer Wash had just enough time to scream over Baron’s radio net before he and his observer both disappeared in a plume of spray off the Nachi’s starboard quarter.

  Jersey Three and Four, already committed to the attack, opened fire with their rockets. They did better than Gratham Flight, managing to put six projectiles into the heavy cruiser’s superstructure. Unfortunately for both aircraft, the Nachi and her accompanying destroyers were much better at shooting than their counterparts aboard the Noshiro. Jersey Three’s bomb was wide as Flight Lieutenant Desmarais, its pilot, broke off his run early. The Greek expatriate had barely ten seconds to be angry about this drop, as a heavy anti-aircraft shell obliterated the Mosquito’s cockpit. Jersey Four’s weapon was also wide and forward of the Nachi, its pilot having waited just a few moments too long.

  Still, both flights had achieved their purpose, so distracting the Japanese gunners that Baron Flight was able to dive on the Chitose.

  “Those aren’t fleet carriers!” Russell said as Bellingsley arrowed towards the illuminated flight deck in front of them. “That’s a goddamn escort carrier!”

  “Well we’re not bloody well circling around to look for the right vessels,” Bellingsley shouted, a stream of 25mm fire passing just over their fighter. The run in towards the Chitose was tense, the carrier starting to turn away from the approaching fighter bombers into a tight circle.

  Come on, come on, come on.

  There was a cry over the radio, and a brief flare of fire to their left rear as Baron Two was struck. Russell turned and saw the Mosquito wreathed in flames, but still trying to get push on.

  “Sir!” Bellingsley said, jolting Russell back to where his mind needed to be. He bent to the bombsight, the Chitose swelling as he aimed.

  “Wait…wait…now!” Russell said.

  The pair of 1,000-lb. bombs separated cleanly, the Mosquito leaping into the air. Doing a quick, loud two count, Bellingsley yanked back on the yoke, the Mosquito leveling off before shuddering with the blast of their ordnance impacting. Looking back, Russell saw that both bombs had just missed the carrier close aboard.

  Dammit. A sudden wave of helplessness and anger washed over him.

  Jersey Two didn’t–

  His thoughts were interrupted by first one, then two flashes suddenly erupting from the Chitose’s flight deck. There was a brief glimpse of Baron Three’s outline in the explosions, tracers reaching out toward the Mosquito. Baron Four’s bombs missed long, their blasts barely shaking the now burning carrier.

  Well at least we got two hits on her, Russell observed with brusque satisfaction. A pair of secondary explosions increased the size of the sizeable blaze on the Japanese carrier..

  “Baron Leader, this is Jersey One, we’re going to have another go at that light cruiser,” Flight Lieutenant Hibbert reported.

  “Jersey One, give me a second and I’ll illuminate, then Gratham Three can assist.”

  “Right on, we’ll stand by.”

  “We need to call Ratmalana and let them know this is not the bloody main force,” Russell said. “Get us up to altitude and let’s start heading back.”

  “Roger,” Bellingsley said, pulling back on the yolk. Russell turned just in time to see Jersey and Gratham’s remaining aircraft with ordnance have another go at the Noshiro. The string of flares outlined the Japanese light cruiser once more, and again anti-aircraft fire reached up towards the descending British aircraft.

  Come on lads, get a lick in.

  “Sir, what hea–”

  Suddenly the inside of the Mosquito was alive with flashes and several loud bangs. Pain stabbed sharply in his legs, his abdomen, right arm, and chest. Bellingsley screamed as the Mosquito tumbled to the right, throwing Russell against his straps, then forward into the radar screen with a teeth-jarring crunch! that sent the world into a brilliant white for a moment.

  What…wha– He attempted to grab his seat straps as the world continued to go topsy turvy. There was the sound of ripping wood, then debris was flying all around him. Russell threw up his hand to cover his face, then realized what swung up into his field of view seemed to be a bit of meat attached to his arm by strings of sinew rather than a hand

  Russell was still in shock and trying to figure out what had happened to his arm when the Mosquito’s front half tumbled into the Pacific. The Chitose Zero that had shot Bellingsley and he down, satisfied with the will, turned to claw back to altitude. To the Japanese pilot’s disappointment, there was no more prey to find in the darkness.

  The remainder of Baron Squadron, egressing at high speed, did not realize they had faced the Second Carrier Fleet, not the Kido Butai. As the senior surviving officer, Flight Officer Badcocke was responsible for providing an action report to Wing Leader Hairns. Upon his return to Ratmalana, Badcocke would state that the Mosquitoes had engaged and set ablaze a Hiryu-class carrier. The report would be made in total and complete earnestness.

  Badcocke’s case of misidentification would have grievous consequences.

  …With A Striking Castle

  “When we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near.”

  Sun Tzu

  Morton Residence

  2236 Local (0436 Eastern)

  Hawaii

  8 August (9 August)

  “I swear by all that’s holy, someone is going to die,” Patricia drawled as the knocking on their kitchen door continued. She had just finished brushing her teeth and slipping into her night robe for a last bit of reading before bed. Now someone, undoubtedly either confused, drunk, or both was quietly, but insistently, tapping.

  “Violently,” Jo agreed as Patricia stepped into the hallway. Patricia stopped stock still, bringing her hand up to her mouth in shock, as she regarded her diminutive roommate.

  “Where in the hell did you get a shotgun?” Patricia asked, her voice rising in concern.

  “How about you don’t announce to the whole world we’re armed?” Jo snapped. She stopped, eyes narrowing as she turned towards the kitchen.

  “What is…”

  “Shush for a second,” Jo said, clearly concentrating. “That sounds like Morse code.”

  Listening for a few more knocks, Jo’s eyes flew wide, then she rushed towards the kitchen door making joyful noises. Stopping in her head long rush, Jo leaned the pump shotgun up against the wall before entering the kitchen.

  What in the hell? Patricia asked, following along behind at a much more sedate pace. Before she was halfway through the house, she heard Jo give a whooping scream and throw the door open.

  “Sam!” Jo shouted, jumping through the door and into the open arms of one Samuel Cobb.

  Oh my God! Patricia thought, tears suddenly welling up in her eyes as David stepped past his brother and into her kitchen. She rushed forward, throwing her arms around him and embracing him.

  “Does she realize she’s only wearing a night shirt?” David whispered as he squeezed his sister.

  “Shush you!” Patricia sobbed into his shoulder. “You know they’ve always had a weird friendship.”

  “Who has always had a weird friendship?” Jo asked, wiping tears away from her eyes as she led Sam by the hand inside.

  If by weird you mean just this side of presentable, perhaps the woman holding the wrong brother’s hand as she leads him into the house.

 
“I need to get changed, Sam,” Jo said. You don’t go anywhere.”

  “What am I, chopped liver?” David asked in faux indignation.

  “I’ll give you your hug when I get decent,” Jo tossed over her shoulder.

  Both Sam and David turned to watch her go.

  That’s it, I’m giving you both a piece of my mind, Patricia bristled. Yes, Eric did not depart here on the best of terms and neither of us have heard from him or Charles in weeks, but there is no excuse for Sam to be flirting with Jo.

  Patricia glared at both her brothers, rattling her fingers on the table until they belatedly turned to look at her. Both men took a simultaneous, clearly involuntary step backwards just as she opened her mouth. The movement stopped her for a second, eyes narrowing.

  “Yes, I know, I look like Mom,” she almost hissed.

  “It’s uncanny, Toots,” Sam said, his voice somewhat shaken.

  “Maybe you should consider why I look like her,” Patricia replied. “Could it be that you’re looking at my roommate like she’s a mutton chop and you’re a wolf?”

  David smirked at that comment, causing Patricia to whirl towards him.

  “Is there something amusing, David? I know Sam and you have always been thick as thieves, but I didn’t think you’d literally help him steal your other brother’s girl.”

  “Point of order,” Jo said coolly from the kitchen doorway. “I’m no one’s ‘girl.’ Not that it’s any of your business.”

  Patricia’s cheeks felt positively ablaze as she looked towards Jo. The shorter woman’s face was calm, almost serene, as she stepped into the room and gave David a huge hug.

  “God I missed you both,” Jo said. Patricia could hear the tears almost ready to flow again in her roommate’s voice. Fighting down her own emotions, she turned to Sam.

  “Did you both forget how to write? We haven’t heard from either of you in weeks.”